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Hanne Berg

Nurse Maisie was just finishing fastening a loose cardigan on Hanne as Dwight and Dr. Troy entered the room. Dwight was initially surprised to see Hanne sitting upright ina wheelchair beside the bed. The last time he saw her she was attached to machines and monitors. The several wires and tubes keeping life going while the medics fought to save her.

Dwight Frye took one final peek over the truncated edge of the bridge then turned away. Walking calmly back to his car he removed his blue serge overall, folded it neatly and placed it in the boot on top of the remnants of the roll of Duct Tape.

Hanne barely suppressed her truimph, she knew she had her sister on the ropes. Silja was now breathing deeply, open mouthed, not through her nose. Her defiance instantly had been replaced by a wild panic. Hanne always hated not being in control, and she could see her sister was not much different in that respect.

When the doors opened again Silja pressed herself against the bulkhead like a cornered cat, she hissed like one also. She had had time to think. She reasoned that Dwight was under orders not to harm her, but she didn’t trust the lumbering hulk, she was unsure if a bid for freedom was worth the risk.

Somewhere at the bottom of a canyon, a phone rang, It was enough to momentarily scare away the mutated beast which was pawing away at strips of duct tape. The phone stopped ringing. The beast sniffed the air and sensing no danger returned to it’s meal. After the phone rang several times more, the beast no longer saw the need for caution, it simply ignored the sound and tore the carcass of it’s lunch apart.

Hanne concentrated on the scene. She smiles as several times some mothers pulled their children, giving Dwight a wide berth. She was not sure if it was the sight or the smell which urged caution. Or both.

Dwight Frye sat at his desk stirring sugar into the tea filled bone china cup on his desk. He liked to be at work early. Next to the cup sat a plate with several biscuits. He picked one and snapped it in half, pausing to brush a crumb from his neatly pressed grey waistcoat. He sipped the tea and surveyed his office. All was fine, everything was in order, not a file, folder or pile of documents out of place.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hanne turned on her side in her bed to discover that the clock now read 03:39.. the last time she looked, ages ago, it had read 03:18. and the time before that, 03:03.

Hanne climbed the last stair and crossed the second floor landing. She paused a moment as her hand rested on the door handle.

The familiar brass plate in front of her smelled of Brass Cleaner and shone brightly even in the darkened stairwell. The dark letters embossed into the metal spelled out " The Ranyhyn Company" clearly.

Hanne Berg sat on the stool at the end of the bar in Trader Flats. She rotated the half full glass of now well-past-room-temperature beer once more on its place mat. Hanne hated waiting around in bars, a woman alone in a bar is attracts all manner of low-life and no-hoper men wanting to 'buy her a drink'.

Hanne smirked to herself. At least she had inherited her fathers cold steel nordic eyes. Her well practiced cold-stare could stop even the most ardent bar-pest in his tracks.

Kosheen looked to Kleineubel a glint of awkward desperation in her eyes. The women stood at the edge of the dust road out the front of the Linewood Diner, looking at a shiny refurbished car. The Blarcus as it was known was Marcus's pride and joy, a Mark 1 Interceptor, It had classic wasteland grunt and beautiful elegant lines detailing its body work. It had been recently serviced and repaired by boys at House of Spokes. The Blarcus was legendary according to its owner, it was seen many miles and a fair share of gunfights.

A day, a night, and most of another day trapped in a car with anyone can strain a relationship. Let's just say there were tantrums, feelings were hurt and there were occaisional tears. Tuki, on the other hand was fine.